Sharpe's Target
by CPO Backstreet
Summary: Sequel to Sharpe's Value, novel continuity. It is November 1808 and the British army under Sir John Moore's command is sitting out the war in Spain. But a French raid gives Sharpe a new and deadly enemy and puts him on a collision course with the French cavalry.
1. Chapter 1

**My previous story in this series seemed to get a bit of interest, so I thought I'd try my hand at another one. I kind of wish I'd known I was going to do this when I wrote Sharpe's Value, because then I'd have made it a bit more open-ended! Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

Lieutenant Richard Sharpe of the 95th Rifles glared resentfully at his latest opponent: A Spanish shopkeeper. "Boots!"he insisted. "Army boots!" The shopkeeper responded with a stream of Spanish, of which Sharpe did not understand one word. Hoping to expedite the conversation, Sharpe moved around the counter to try and take the items off the shelf himself, prompting more angry words from the shopkeeper, who shoved Sharpe back to the customer's side, quite a feat considering that he was over a foot shorter than him.

Sharpe had a feeling the shopkeeper understood perfectly what he wanted. He was just delighting in showing up Sharpe's ignorance, as many people did. Sharpe could have taken an interpreter with him but the question was how to find one. For all their superior attitude towards Sharpe, he suspected his fellow officers knew not much more Spanish than him. And the idea of going to the other ranks, who already felt his status as an officer was undeserved, and admitting that one of them knew something he did not, would cause him even further humiliation.

Sharpe gestured to his own boots, lifting one foot up so the shopkeeper could see it. Either the shopkeeper finally understand his wishes or he took pity on him. Whichever one it was, he gave a big show of understanding. Sharpe produced a bag of money, which was enough to get the shopkeeper's attention, then wrote down the amount he needed. Fortunately, he no longer had to provide for the whole battalion, since they had been split up several weeks earlier. Lieutenant-Colonel Wade, Sharpe's battalion commander, had taken half the men to meet up with some new reinforcements, leaving the rest in billets.

With the shopkeeper suddenly co-operative, Sharpe soon had the boots he needed, the shopkeeper had most of his gold and he was able to head back out into the streets. The city was called Salamanca, although Sharpe didn't imagine he would have reason to remember the name once they left. It was three months since the British had landed in Portugal, three months since Sir Arthur Wellesley had led them to victories at Rolica and Vimeiro. They had seemed invincible then. They had cleared the French out of Portugal and they believed they would do the same in Spain. Instead they seemed to have stalled in Spain. Wellesley was gone, recalled to London with the generals who had superseded him, and the British troops in Salamanca were now under the command of Sir John Moore. And there they stayed.

* * *

Sharpe had passed the boots on to the sergeants, telling them to distribute them among their companies. He had no real desire to spend time with the riflemen he served with, and knew that they had no real desire to spend time with him. Besides, there was someone else that he did want to spend time with. He climbed his stairs to his room, where Delfina Lobato was waiting for him.

Delfina had been his lover for four months, since she had come to him for protection after learning more than was healthy about the British traitor, David Machin. Machin was dead now, killed by Sharpe on the field at Vimeiro, and Sharpe now held his rank. He had tried to get her to stay behind in Portugal when the British advanced but she had insisted on coming with him.

Delfina smiled at his appearance. "You were gone a long time, Richard."

Sharpe removed the belt that held his sword with a weary sigh. "You don't know any Spanish, do you?"

"A little."

"Maybe I'll take you with me next time. The local shopkeepers might respond better to you than me."

"Because I can speak their language or because I am prettier than you?"

Sharpe managed to force a smile onto his face. "Both."

"We are staying here though? There is no order to advance?"

Sharpe shrugged. "None that I've heard of. You like the people here?"

"They are Spanish, but they suffer at the hands of the French same as we have. Yes, I like them."

"How much?"

"Not as much as I like you."

He kissed her then, carrying her to the bed and disrobing her. Staying in Salamanca sounded fine to him.

* * *

Sharpe emerged a few hours later to walk the city again. He saw a few faces that he recognised but none of them stopped to greet him and he reciprocated by ignoring them. Then he saw another familiar face standing on the ramparts. Major Warren Dunnett. Since the departure of Colonel Wade, Dunnett was Sharpe's commanding officer. Sharpe detested Dunnett's company. The only reason he approached him was that he knew Dunnett detested his company just as much.

Dunnett gave his customary sneer as Sharpe approached. "The new lieutenant."

Sharpe knew that his promotion rankled Dunnett, that he referred to him in that manner as a way of indicating that he considered Sharpe undeserving of rising even that high in the battalion's ranks. In reality, the fact that it annoyed Dunnett pleased Sharpe. "Sir,"he responded, adding just a touch of insolence to the apparently deferential greeting. He stood at Dunnett's side and, like his major, quickly picked out a group of horsemen in the distance. "French patrol,"he stated.

"Don't worry, Sharpe, they won't come near here,"Dunnett told him patronisingly. "It'd take a full French army to even think of threatening us."

"What is the nearest army?"

Dunnett looked as though he resented answering the question but couldn't think of a reason not to. He took comfort in the fact the answer would be meaningless to Sharpe. "Marshal Soult,"he replied. "But he's eighty miles away, his hands full with our Spanish allies. We won't be seeing him any time soon."

Sharpe nodded. Part of him took comfort from the news, part of him was disappointed. As much as he was enjoying his billet, and Delfina, he wanted to get on in the army. He had been promoted into a dead man's shoes once, been in the right place at the right time. If the battalion was short of a captain, why not Sharpe? But for that to happen, they would have to fight the French. And while they were holed up in Salamanca, that would not happen. They would need to advance.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

"You want to go outside the city?"Dunnett repeated. He looked Sharpe over, his gaze settling with a slight sneer on the rifle Sharpe was holding. Sharpe knew that it was just another reason for Dunnett to not view him as a proper officer, that he carried the same weapon as the lower ranks, but he felt comfortable with the gun.

"To search for supplies,"Sharpe reiterated sullenly. The excuse was weak, he knew that. In truth, he didn't know why he was going. He just wanted to get out of the city, away from the battalion, away from lists and rations. He wanted to feel like a soldier, just for a while.

"Or perhaps you want to go and seek out the French?"Dunnett suggested, as though reading Sharpe's mind. "And get yourself killed by them?" He smiled."Well, no objection from me. Permission granted, Lieutenant."

It wasn't exactly the response Sharpe had hoped for but he'd got what he wanted. He stood to attention briefly, then headed towards the city gates.

Delfina come running up to him. "Richard? Where are you going?"

Sharpe scowled, inwardly. He didn't want to have to deal with this, not now. "Out,"he answered curtly. "Exploring."

"Can I come with you?"

Sharpe almost growled. "This isn't for fun!"he snapped. "There are French patrols out there, or had you missed the fact the country's been invaded?"

"Then take some men with you."

Sharpe shook his head. He had taken men with him when he rescued Delfina. Most of them hadn't come back. They, at least, had died for a cause. This time there was no cause. He wasn't going to put men at risk just because he wanted to alleviate his boredom. "I'll attract less attention on my own."

"And what if you don't come back, Richard?"Delfina asked angrily. "What will happen to me?"

Sharpe looked her over, aware of a responsibility he hadn't asked for and didn't want, however fond of her he was. "You'll be all right,"he said simply, before hurrying on his way.

* * *

Sharpe had gone about ten miles from the city gates when he heard them. Horses. They could have been friendly, allies. Something told Sharpe they weren't. He ducked into hiding in the bushes, moments before French uniforms came in sight. Thirty of them. Chasseurs. They were led by a full colonel, who had cultivated a full moustache in a way that had to have been done for effect rather than simply to save himself the trouble of shaving. He had a superior look about him that made Sharpe glad he didn't have to have anything to do with him.

Colonel Laurent of the 1st Provisional Chasseurs was unaware he was the subject of Sharpe's scrutiny. He wouldn't have cared if he had known. Such things were beneath his consideration. He was an officer in the best army every assembled, in service to a great country at the centre of a great empire. These things he was certain of, as certain as he was that Spain would soon be a part of that empire. Much of the country had freely accepted French rule and those who didn't would soon learn their error.

His aide, Captain Daborde, nodded towards the city in the not-too-distant distance. "Salamanca. The British army is there."

"They will not be there for long,"Laurent said simply. He had heard of the British victories of a few months earlier, how they had defeated General Junot's invasion of Portugal. He was not impressed. Everyone knew that when the British tried to confront the French directly they failed. They resorted to treaties. Even in so-called victory, they had signed a treaty and allowed Junot and his men to return to France. They would soon leave Spain when they saw how futile their efforts were.

But Laurent was no fool. He would gain nothing by attacking the British with a handful of men. He turned his horse away from the city. "Let us go find the people who do not accept French rule."

* * *

Sharpe had never felt more self-conscious in his life as he did when recounting his experience to Dunnett in the major's quarters. Dunnett had laid out a plan of the surrounding area and Sharpe had struggled to recognise the landmarks. Eventually, he indicated a route. "They were travelling in this direction. About fifty of them. Chasseurs."

"Not a threat to us then,"Dunnett replied smartly.

"Not yet, sir,"Sharpe persisted. "But if they're pushing that far forward…"

Captain John Murray came to join them at the table. In a way, Sharpe was glad for his presence. He had no friends among his fellow officers but Murray at least treated him with a certain amount of respect. "There are Spanish villages in that direction."

"Well, what do you expect us to do, Murray?"Dunnett asked angrily. "Go riding to their rescue?"

"Perhaps the sighting should be reported to Sir John, sir?"Murray suggested.

Dunnett sighed but his commitment to his duty won out. "Yes, fine. I'll see what our commander has to say. Laugh me out of his office, probably." He left the room with a filthy look in Sharpe's direction.

Sharpe looked at Murray, grateful for his support but somewhat resentful that Dunnett had listened to him so easily. "I hear the French army's eighty miles away."

"It was,"Murray confirmed. "But it's getting closer all the time." He gestured to points on a map. "A few days ago, the French defeated the Spanish at Gamonal. It's left them with a clear route into central Spain. Around the same time, General Blake's army was defeated by Marshal Victor here at Espinosa. The French occupiers in Barcelona have been cut off but the only force preventing them getting reinforcements is the garrison at Rosas here and they're under siege. Our navy is attempting to give them support but success is less than guaranteed. They say Bonaparte himself has entered Spain to ensure the French invasion is a success. They're coming for us, Sharpe."

Sharpe knew the threat to the British was large. But until that moment, he'd never thought their cause might be hopeless.


	3. Chapter 3

**I picked up my first follower, so thank you to that person!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE**

Sharpe cursed silently to himself. He cursed Dunnett, he cursed Murray, he cursed Moore, he cursed Wellesley. He cursed the French, the Spanish and the British. Occasionally, he even cursed Delfina. Anyone who had raised his hopes and then crushed it. His options seemed to consist of ending a dead end career by dying in a futile campaign or being withdrawn back to barracks to eke out his existence as an ageing unpromotable lieutenant. Neither appealed.

His mood was not improved by a British cavalryman, a hussar, trotting down the street towards him. He noticed the sergeant's stripes on the man's sleeve and felt no inclination to move aside for him. "Get out of the way,"he snarled, keeping his head lowered as he forced the sergeant to guide his horse to one side.

"Mister Sharpe?"came the bewildered response. "It is Mister Sharpe still?"

Sharpe spun round at the familiar greeting and looked the sergeant in the face for the first time. "Eli?" A burst of shame went through him as he reached up to shake the man's hand. Eli Lockhart. He had last seen him five years earlier on the ramparts of Gawilghur, after they had killed the traitor William Dodd together. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm with the 15th Hussars now. Lord Paget." Lockhart examined Sharpe's uniform. "You're with the rifles?"

Sharpe nodded. "The 95th."

"And still an officer?"

"Full lieutenant."

"Good work, Dick."

The name struck Sharpe as strange, since it was so long since anyone had used it. Officers called him Sharpe, men reluctantly called him sir. The few friends he had called him Richard. When he had met Lockhart he had been newly commissioned, not quite used to no longer being Sergeant Dick Sharpe, not used to sergeants calling him sir. He had told Lockhart to use his old name. He hadn't expected to hear it again.

Lockhart seemed to realise his faux pas. "Sir,"he amended quickly.

Sharpe gave a nod of gratitude. "I'm the battalion quartermaster,"he admitted.

Lockhart grimaced. "A waste, sir."

"Thanks, Eli." Sharpe struggled to recall the woman he had left with the sergeant. "Clare?"

"Back in England,"Lockhart replied. "Waiting for me."

Sharpe smiled but felt jealousy. No woman waited for him. Except Delfina, of course, but he sensed she tired of him, as Clare and a dozen other had done before her. Then a thought struck him. "You ride out?"

"Sometimes."

"If you do it again, let me know. I might need to join you."

* * *

When Sharpe re-entered his rooms, he found Delfina fastening her shawl. He was not pleased. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

She glared at him defiantly. "Out."

The answer was deliberarely and maddeningly vague but Sharpe knew what she meant. "Outside the city?"

"Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"

"The French!"

Delfina glared at him with anger. "Yes, I heard about what you saw. The French are here. And what do you intend to do? Do you intend to hide in this Spanish city?"

Sharpe felt his frustration mounting. She was saying much the same things he had thought himself but what could he do? He might be an officer but he commanded nothing. He wasn't a gentleman. He couldn't lead a charge against the French. "It's not up to me!"he protested, the words sounding pathetic even to him.

"If you don't make a stand, the French will keep going,"Delfina persisted. "They'll keep going all the way to Portugal! What was the point of driving them out if you're just going to let them back in?"

Sharpe cursed her stubbornness. "So what are _you_ going to do? Go out there and fight the French? Or maybe you think I'll bring men to rescue you?"

"I'm not expecting anything from you, Richard." She headed out of the room and down the steps. Sharpe chased after her…and then they both ran into Dunnett.

"Sharpe,"he said, more an observation than a greeting. "And the lady under his protection. Where are you going?"

"Outside,"Delfina replied rebelliously. "Is that allowed?"

Dunnett smiled broadly. "Of course! You're not prisoners here. Are they, Sharpe?"

Sharpe wanted to argue but he was caught in a trap. "No, sir."

"Thank you, Major,"Delfina said stiffly before heading towards the gate.

Sharpe glared at the smiling Dunnett then headed up to his room.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Delfina hadn't gone far from the city when she began to feel foolish. She was aware there was a certain element of childishness in her protest. Richard frustrated her at times but it wasn't really him that she was angry with. It was the British, or even her own people, who seemed to be relying on their oldest allies to save them from the French. The danger was real and she knew it…so heading out into that danger to prove a point was unwise to say the least. Still, her only alternative was sloping back to Sharpe, so she went on.

The nearest village was five miles away and it took her over an hour to reach it. There, she explored the streets until she found a stallholder selling a variety of knitted shawls. She approached. "What do you have in purple?"

The stallholder examined her suspiciously. "You're not Spanish, are you?"

"I'm Portuguese." She wasn't sure if the explanation would help or not; the Spanish and Portuguese were not especially friendly. She held out a hand. "Delfina."

The other woman seemed to soften slightly as she accepted the handshake. "Catalina. What are you doing here?"

"I'm with the British garrison at Salamanca." Again, a potentially awkward declaration: The Spanish were even less friendly towards the British than they were towards the Portuguese.

"And don't they sell shawls in Salamanca?"Catalina asked.

Delfina had to resort to the truth. "I just wanted to get out."

Catalina nodded, accepting it for now. "Let's see what we can find for you."

But less than a mile away, Colonel Laurent was training his spyglass on the village. He put it away and smiled. "Let us see what that village has to say about the French."

* * *

"Eli! Eli!" Sharpe caught sight of the cavalryman, dismounted, heading into a tavern and raced up to him.

Lockhart turned round, looking as though he was wondering if he should be standing to attention. "Yes, sir?"

Sharpe paused to get his breath back, painfully aware that this wasn't a good look for an officer and deciding that he didn't care. "Are you going out?"

Lockhart didn't need to ask what he meant. He looked at him cautiously, as though worried what Sharpe wanted. "There's a patrol going out this afternoon."

"Can I come with you?"

Lockhart sighed. Having a lieutenant asking him for a favour was not the most comfortable experience he had ever had, especially when it was a man he considered a friend. Couldn't Sharpe see it was beyond his power? "Dick, I can't do that."

Sharpe thought hard, trying to find a compromise. "Then, tell me when you're leaving. And where from. I'll join you there. You can…provide introductions." Sharpe knew he was grasping but some soldier's instinct told him that something was wrong.

"I can do that,"Lockhart agreed. "Have you got a horse?"

Sharpe didn't. And he couldn't afford one. "Have you got any spares?"

Lockhart sighed. "No, sir."

"I'll borrow one,"Sharpe replied. He wasn't sure who from. He didn't have any friends who had horses. The landlord of his rooms had a horse. It probably wouldn't be much good if he had to ride into battle but hopefully all he needed was a horse to carry him.

Lockhart nodded in acqueisance. "Then I'll do all I can."

Sharpe looked towards the city gate and hoped Delfina would be all right until he could reach her.

* * *

Delfina was in hell.

She had just been finishing her transaction with Catalina when the French came. Laurent and his men had spread through all the streets of the village, cutting off any escape. Most of the people had been herded into the square where Delfina was, where the French surrounded them. One man, apparently the closest thing the village had to a leader, approached the colonel. "What do you want from us?"

"I want to know where your loyalties lie,"Laurent replied. "Who do you serve?"

"Our loyalty is with Spain."

"But who rules Spain? Your juntas? Do you recognise King Joseph? Or do you still think that Bourbon king, whose own father denounced him, will return?"

"That remains to be seen."

It was a small defiance but it was enough. A moment later, Laurent's sword ended the man's life. And then the panic started. People tried to get out of the square but all who did were cut down by the chasseurs' sabres. Some of those who were simply standing still were cut down as well. Delfina noted with a mounting horror that it was mostly the men and the elderly who were being killed. Young women were beaten but spared.

Laurent seemed to notice her and spurred his horse to trot over to her. "And what about you, senorita?" he asked. "Do you still dream of the return of King Ferdinand?"

Delfina looked up at him. "I'm Portuguese,"she replied. "I'm a subject of the Braganzas, of Queen Maria."

Laurent laughed. "Queen Maria is mad and in Brazil. She will not help you." He gestured with his sabre, indicating for her to gather with the other women in the centre of the square. "You have been visited by Colonel Laurent!"he told them. "You have been visited by the soldier of Bonaparte, of the Empeur!" He turned to his men. "Choose any of them you wish."

* * *

Sharpe was aware that the horse he was dragging was not exactly up to military standards. He hadn't even had the nerve to mount the grey beast, who seemed determined to be as uncooperative as possible. When he saw the hussars on their fine horses up ahead, he almost turned back. Only his concern for Delfina stopped him.

Lockhart saw him coming and gave a nod of welcome before clearing his throat. "Captain Spence, sir?"

The man who answered was probably five years younger than Sharpe, somewhere in his mid-twenties. But his tone was free of condescension as he addressed his subordinate. "Yes, Lockhart, what is it?"

Lockhart gestured to the newcomer. "This is Lieutenant Sharpe, sir. We fought together in India. He asked permission to accompany us."

Spence looked Sharpe over with mild confusion. "Why is that, Sharpe?"

"I'm a quartermaster in the 95th, sir. I was given permission to seek out supplies." Sharpe was aware that the reply was a half-truth. Dunnett had only given him permission for the one trip. But he didn't feel like going to Dunnett again.

Spence nodded. "Well, I don't see why not." He glanced at an ensign who was probably fifteen years younger than Sharpe. "Miller, provide the lieutenant with any assistance he needs."

Sharpe mounted his horse, nodding as politely as he could manage at Miller. And then he rode out with the rest of them, to see what they might find.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

They couldn't have gone more than a mile from the city when they saw the smoke.

Sharpe wanted to ride on, to get there as fast as possible. Common sense held him back. He couldn't fully control his horse, so riding on alone was likely to have him end up anywhere except where he wanted to be. If he did get there, he would be without back-up facing goodness knows what odds. He needed the hussars for help. But it didn't make having to proceed at the pace Spence decided, despite all Sharpe's attempts to urge him on, any less frustrating.

In truth, they probably could have done little if they had arrived earlier. There was not one person left who was not dead or injured. Some perhaps had fled, taking refuge in the countryside or in neighbouring villages that might escape the wrath of the French. But the town square was full of bodies.

Sharpe dismounted, as did many of the others present. They checked the villagers, many of whom were stirring. The unfamiliar uniforms seemed to alarm them and the British made soothing noises to try and convince them they were on the same side.

Sharpe looked over the group. No sign of Delfina, alive or dead. She might not have been there, of course. She might have been somewhere else. But the sight of a slightly rotund woman with short curly hair seemed to stir some intuition in him, that she might have the information he wanted. "Have you seen a Portuguese woman?"he asked her. "A pretty one?"

The woman looked at him in confusion, seemingly not understanding the words. Miller coughed awkwardly. "May I, sir?" Sharpe nodded and the boy crouched by the woman. " _¿Has visto a una linda portuguesa?_ "he asked.

The woman answered in a stream of Spanish that Sharpe couldn't follow but one word stood out. Delfina. "Yes, Delfina,"he confirmed eagerly. "Where is she?"

The woman gestured to the road out of town. "She go. With _francés_."

"Her name's Catalina,"Miller interjected. "She says the French took the women they liked with them."

And Sharpe's heart sank.

* * *

The dead were laid out in the village church. There was talk of digging a mass grave but there were survivors who might wish to claim the dead and give them a proper burial. The decision would be left to them. The survivors would be taken to the hospital in Salamanca, Spence announced. And then, as if considering the matter closed, he order his patrol to form up and return, with the injured to follow in waggons.

Sharpe was aghast. "What about the women?"he demanded.

Spence looked at him, confused. "The women?"

"The ones the French took."

Spence sighed. "Sharpe, we can't go running after every Spaniard who's got themselves into trouble. We need to get back and report this."

Sharpe stood to attention. "Then I request permission to look for them on my own."

Spence stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "You're not exactly under my command so if that's what you want to do…"

"Request permission to accompany Lieutenant Sharpe,"Lockhart interjected.

"I also request permission,"added Miller.

Spence sighed."Very well. And I suppose I'd better make sure you have some men with you to keep you alive. Higgins, Wells, Millington, go with them."

* * *

The French had followed the same set of actions at the next village. A few questions to ascertain the loyalty of the villagers, then, when they had failed to meet Laurent's standards, they had been put to the sword. Only a few young women had been spared, and they had joined Delfina and the others waiting apprehensively in the middle of the village.

Laurent looked them over with a mixture of disdain and anger. "Do you not understand?"he bellowed. "The French rule you now! We will look after you! We will bring to you the benefits of our empire! Why do you not understand this?"

Daborde came to his side. "The men want to know what you intend to do with the prisoners,"he explained quietly.

Laurent looked over at his men, all of whom were eyeing up the women. He knew what they wanted. It was why he had brought the women there after all. His men deserved a reward for their loyal service to the empire.

"I must return to General Dabelle,"he told them. "You will follow when it is time to do so. Until then, these women are yours to do with as you wish."


	6. Chapter 6

**Got my first review on the last chapter so thank you to that person!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX**

Sharpe's group had followed the tracks of the French horsemen and their captives. In the end, it hadn't exactly been hard. They didn't even seem to have attempted to hide their route, as if it hadn't occurred to them that someone might follow. They believed their control of Spain to be that complete.

Sharpe looked over the other horsemen. Somehow he'd ended up in a command of an ensign, a sergeant and three hussars. He wondered if he should mention that to Dunnett. Of course, it would help if he actually achieved something with them. And whether he would or not remained to be seen.

He motioned quiet as they approached the second village. Some instinct told him that the French would gather in the centre, as they had at the previous village. With a series of gestures and brief instructions, he directed his five-strong command to circle round the village and enter it at various points. With luck, they would be able to trap the enemy.

Sharpe knew he had chosen right when he heard the screams. He spurred his horse on, hoping that the French would be too distracted to hear his approach. When he reached the centre, he came across an orgy of cruelty. The women were being beaten and raped, the French far too engrossed in their fun to notice his approach. He picked out Delfina, pinned down by a French soldier. Forcing himself to remain quiet, he levelled his rifle and pulled the trigger. The Frenchman jerked once, then he was still.

Pandemonium erupted. The Frenchmen looked round at the sound of the retort and ran for their muskets but the shot had brought the rest of the British horsemen into play. Carbines were clinically lowered and fired and another group of Frenchmen dropped to the floor. Then sabres were drawn. The British were armed and mounted on horseback. The Frenchmen, taken by surprise and still half-naked in some cases, stood no chance. Attempts to surrender were ignored. All of them were cut down. Some actually managed to reach swords and put up a fight but were soon beaten down by the fury of the horsemen.

Sharpe spotted a captain's uniform among the enemy. He charged and swiped and Daborde was dead.

In the end, the violence came to a natural conclusion. There was no-one left to kill. Sharpe slid off his horse. "Ensign Miller!"

The ensign had taken a sword in the shoulder and looked as white as a sheet but managed to stagger over at Sharpe's call. "Sir?"

"We're taking these women back to the city. Find horses for them."

"Yes, sir." Miller hesitated. "Where from, sir?"

Sharpe glanced at the bodies around them. "From them." He looked around at his small command. "Anyone hurt on our side?"

"Just scratches, sir,"Lockhart answered.

"Good. Miller, we might need you as a translator. Make sure the ladies are all right." Unable to think of any more orders to give, Sharpe instead crouched by Delfina. "Lass?"

Delfina hadn't moved since the Frenchman had been shot off her. "Richard?"she asked, as if unsure whether to believe it.

Sharpe nodded. "It's me, lass. Can you stand?"

Delfina let him help her to her feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

"It's okay,"he assured her. "Did we get all of them?"

It seemed to take Delfina a moment to understand the question. Eventually, she looked round, as though checking. "Laurent,"she remembered. "Their leader, he called himself Colonel Laurent. He left beforehand."

"What did he look like?"

"He had dark hair but it was starting to go grey. He had a fancy moustache."

Sharpe suddenly remembered the chasseur colonel he had seen. He looked over the French dead. The same uniforms. Suddenly, he was certain that they were the same men. His mind was full of what ifs. If he'd shot that French colonel then…He dismissed the idea. That wasn't the way he worked. "We're going home,"he told her. He helped her up onto his borrowed horse, then clambered up onto one of the French horses that Miller had found and led the group back to Salamanca.

* * *

It was two hours later that another group of horsemen arrived in the village. Laurent had half a dozen chasseurs with him. He had wanted to travel alone but General Dabelle had insisted he take an escort to retrieve his men. As it turned out, he didn't need them. But then, he also had no men to retrieve.

Laurent looked as shocked as anyone had seen him as he walked through the pile of corpses. There were many Spanish dead, the victims of his own assault, but his attention was solely on his men, lying as they had fallen, half-dressed in many cases. Sword thrusts and wounds from musketballs made it clear that they had been attacked by a military force, not by simple peasants.

"Hoofmarks,"one of the men reported. "Coming here and then heading south."

"British,"Laurent snarled. "Barbarians. Animals. Sub-human. They do not even bury those they slaughter. Get shovels."

It took the soldiers a moment to realise the last had been an order. "Sir?"

"We will give these brave French soldiers the burial they deserve. Then we will return to our army. And we will make the British pay."

* * *

Sharpe arrived back at Salamanca to find both Spence and Dunnett waiting for him. Spence was quick to congratulate Sharpe on getting everyone there safely. From Dunnett, there was no congratulation. The Spanish women that Sharpe had rescued were soon taken in by the inhabitants of the city. Miller, Lockhart and the others returned to the hussars…and Sharpe and Delfina were suddenly back in the unforgiving eyes of the 95th. Dunnett looked at Sharpe with disdain. "I trust that the new lieutenant has all the supplies he needs."

Sharpe met his gaze. "I've got enough." He had had enough before he even went out, and Dunnett knew it, but neither of them wanted to say that.

"Good,"Dunnett replied simply. "Then get everything ready for when we move out."

The declaration took Sharpe by surprise. "We're going to advance?"

"We are heading for the coast,"Dunnett replied. "Don't worry, Sharpe. We'll show you the way." He stalked off, smirking at the parting shot.

"The coast?"Delfina repeated, looking to Sharpe for answers.

Sharpe looked to Murray for the same. "Why are we going to the coast?"

"We've got reinforcements arriving,"Murray explained. "They're sending Sir David Baird with more troops."

Sharpe nodded. This sounded good. He knew Baird, he'd done work for him in India and at Copenhagen. "And then we'll advance?"

Murray sounded less than optimistic. "Maybe."

"But why wouldn't we?"

"General Castaños and his army have been crushed at Tudele. They're scattered, joining up with city garrisons. And Napoleon's forced his way through the Somosierra Pass. He's days away from Madrid and they're not expected to hold out. The word is that Spain may be lost."

Sharpe looked out towards enemy lines and wondered if he'd actually achieved anything. Colonel Laurent would soon be free to go wherever he liked in Spain and do whatever he liked. It was over.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

The next few days, the mood was despondent. Everyone knew that they were retreating. It felt like a failure and yet the British had not been defeated, had not even fought the French in Spain. There were mutterings that the danger wasn't as great as feared, that Moore had lost his nerve, that if they just stood and fought then they would turn the French away just as they had done at Rolica and Vimiero. But still they retreated.

Sharpe's brief moment of freedom, his brief time commanding troops into battle, was over. He was back carrying out his quartermaster's duties, with endless lists and having to account for every item they had taken with them when they marched. His only comfort was that Delfina continued to accompany them.

"You're not going after the French,"she said one night, as they lay together in his tent. "Not even with this Baird."

Sharpe felt embarrassed. But he owed her an answer. "It doesn't look like it,"he admitted.

"What will you do?"

"I don't know. Maybe head back to Portugal. We've still got a garrison there, maybe we'll meet up with them."

Delfina nodded decisively. "That is good. I feel for the Spanish, for Catalina and the others, but they let the French in here. We did not do the same. You should stay and help us."

In truth, Sharpe wasn't sure that would happen. But he nodded all the same.

* * *

But the next morning somehow things were different. There seemed to be a more positive feel around the camp that Sharpe noticed instantly. He looked at Delfina but she was as confused as him. The confusion increased when Dunnett began issuing orders for them to get underway. The direction they were heading in was completely different to the one they'd been taking the previous day. Instead of the coast, they seemed to be heading deeper into Spain. "Something I don't know about, sir?"he asked.

Dunnett gave one of his superior smiles. "Quite a few things, I imagine, Sharpe. Just make sure the supplies are ready to be brought with us."

Once again, Sharpe turned to Murray for help. "Where are we going?"

"Sir John Moore's had a change of heart,"Murray explained.

"We're not retreating?"

"Not immediately. Sir John's decided to strike one last blow against the French. He's found out that Marshal Soul's army is nearby, on the Carrion River. We're going to join up with Baird's men and then launch an attack. Give Napoleon something to remember us by."

Sharpe looked out towards the frontier with renewed hope. In truth, he didn't care about Marshal Soult or the Carrion River. He wasn't even sure he cared about Spain. He had a different target. A French cavalry officer with a full moustache. It was a vain hope, of course. He didn't even know if Laurent was with Soult. But he had a dream that eventually he would meet Laurent on the field of battle. And when he did, only one of them would walk away.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

It was five days later that they met up with Baird's reinforcements. Among them were the rest of the 95th, led by Colonel Wade. There was much back-slapping as people were reunited with old comrades. Dunnett was at his most obsequious as his time as battalion commander came to an end, saluting Wade smartly. "A pleasure to have you back, sir."

"Thank you, Major,"Wade replied simply. "Is there anything to report?"

"No, sir, it's been quite uneventful."

Wade's gaze flickered over to Sharpe. "Lieutenant. I heard that you had an adventure of your own."

"I was travelling with a cavalry patrol as part of my duties,"Sharpe replied. He didn't want to go into too much detail about how he'd ended up there. "We came across two Spanish villages that had been attacked by the French. We managed to get the survivors to safety."

Wade nodded. "Good, Sharpe, good. That is what we're here for after all."

The praise was enough to convince Sharpe that he might be able to ask a favour. "I wonder if I might travel with the cavalry again. As part of my duties."

Wade looked at him for a long moment, sensing there was more to Sharpe's request. "At your discretion, Sharpe, I will allow you a certain amount of leeway. But I think there is someone else you are acquainted with who may be able to help you more."

* * *

Miles away, another officer was having similar thoughts to Sharpe. Laurent was looking over his men. Good men, but so many faces missing. Faces that hadn't been replaced. The 1st Provisional Chasseurs was short of men. And the blame lay with the British, who had seen fit to interfere in the French conquest of Spain.

"You seem troubled, Colonel,"noted General Dabelle.

Laurent gave his commander a cursory glance and a cursory salute. He knew he had to show the respect that a superior office was due. "I am thinking of what we have lost, sir."

Dabelle nodded. "Their sacrifice will not be for nothing. This country will be ours and all those who deny our right to it will be swept aside."

Laurent heard the words and believed them. But there was more. He dreamed of meeting the British who had killed his men, of slaughtering them like the dogs they were. He knew it was a vain dream, that he had little chance of seeing those men again. But he would kill every British cavalryman he encountered and their blood would match that of his men drop for drop.

* * *

Loitering where a senior officer could find him was not one of Sharpe's favourite past-times. But then, walking in on a senior officer was something he was even less fond of. In general, he tended to avoid senior officers as much as possible but he needed the help of one now. Eventually, he was rewarded with the approach of Baird. Sharpe stood to attention and shouted "Sir!" loudly.

Baird looked at the officer in front of him, well aware that the show had been to attract his attention and wondering about the reason. "Lieutenant Sharpe, isn't it?"he asked at last.

"Yes, sir."

Baird looked more closely at his uniform. "A full lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir. Since after Vimeiro, sir." Sharpe was beginning to feel foolish. But if there was one general in the army that Sharpe could ask a favour from, it was Baird. He had saved the general's life at Seringapatam and later done work for him at Copenhagen.

Baird seemed to make the connection as well, since his next question was "Well, Sharpe, what can I do for you?"

At that, Sharpe hesitated. But it was the opening he'd been waiting for. "I'd been wondering about the army's plans, sir." Before Baird could continue, he added pointedly, "The whole army."

Baird looked at him. "Sir John has decided to send out cavalry in advance, to scout out in Soult's direction. The 10th and 15th Hussars."

Sharpe smiled. The news could not have been better. "Thank you, sir."

* * *

Sharpe had rapidly retrieved the horse he had taken from the French chasseurs and then headed out in search of the hussars assembling at the edge of the British camp. He searched for Lockhart, for Miller, for Spence…anyone who might give him a sympathetic reception. In the end, he found them in a corner of the group. He parked his horse in front of Spence and saluted. "Lieutenant Sharpe, requesting permission to accompany you."

A horseman in the uniform of a major-general came riding over. "Captain, what is this?"

Spence saluted the senior officer. "My lord, may I present Lieutenant Richard Sharpe of the 95th? He accompanied us on our earlier expedition near Salamanca. He found and brought back the smaller group of missing Spanish civilians. Lieutenant Sharpe, this is the cavalry commander, Lord Henry Paget."

Sharpe suddenly felt very uncomfortable in the presence of a general and not even one he knew. "Your servant, sir,"he mumbled awkwardly.

Paget accepted the compliment but looked no less puzzled. "What can we do for you, Lieutenant?"

Spence saved Sharpe the embarassment of answering. "The lieutenant wished to accompany us, sir."

"Scouting for my own regiment, sir,"Sharpe managed to add. "The supply situation."

Paget looked back at Spence. "Well, if you're happy to have him travel with you, I have no objections. You might want some warm clothes though, Lieutenant! Going to be chilly out in open country, what?" Laughing at his own joke and with Sharpe already dismissed from his mind, Paget rode over to join the other senior officers.

Lockhart produced a cloak and a fur-lined pelisse. "Here, sir."

Sharpe nodded his thanks. He was grateful for Paget too. The general may not have respected him but he had accepted him. Somewhere out in those icy plains was the French cavalry. And Sharpe very much wanted to meet them.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

It was well into the night, nearly dawn, when the British saw fires burning in a Spanish town. They reined their horses while Paget examined it with a spy glass. "What is that place?"he asked.

"Sahagun,"Miller supplied helpfully after a length silence.

Paget nodded, as though that explained everything, and put away the spyglass. "French cavalry,"he diagnosed.

Sharpe spoke quietly to Lockhart. "What now? Do we charge?"

Lockhart made an uncertain gesture in response. "Depends what orders we're given."

Sharpe grimaced at the obviousness of the answer and strained to hear what Paget was saying.

"Slade, take the 10th hussars and advance into the town,"Paget ordered another general. "The 15th will circle the town and enter from the south. That should leave those frogs trapped, what?"

There was a general agreement with the orders and Sharpe joined the 15th in circling around the town. He felt frustrated that he would likely miss out on all the action but it wasn't as if he could suddenly switch regiments. Lockhart leaned in. "Have you any experience of fighting on horseback?"

"No,"Sharpe replied curtly, making it clear he didn't want to discuss the matter.

They had almost completed their circle when they saw something in the dawn light. French horsemen, coming from Sahagun, unmolested. Of the 10th, there was no sign. "That damn fool Slade!"Paget blasted. "He's let them get away!"

Sharpe wondered what the French would do now. Would they spur their horses, getting as far away as possible? Would they charge at them? But instead of doing either of those things, they seemed to come to a stop. They formed up in two lines, chasseurs at the front and dragoons behind. "Daring us to come at them,"Spence realised.

Sharpe saw light glinting off French carbines, aimed at them, ready to fire at their approach. He had seen cavalry charge at a square and knew the likely fate. This was a different proposition, of course: Fewer men, no trained infantry. The challenge seemed irresistible.

"Charge!"Paget bellowed.

The 15th hussars hammered through the snow towards the French lines, yelling a war cry. The French carbines fired and some of them hit a target but most went wild. And then the British were upon them, swords thrust out, their momentum carrying them straight through both French lines. French horses were upended and men ended up on the ground, desperately avoiding the hooves of panicked horses. Some tried to run but pursuing cavalry convinced them that surrender was their best option.

Sharpe saw swords flashing at him and dodged them, unsure of his ability to fight back. One of his dives to avoid a slash saw him lose his balance, and he fell from the saddle, ending up in the snow. He looked around, aware of his vulnerability, but the French discipline had been broken completely by the devastating charge. They were in full retreat, every man for himself whether on foot or on horse, with the British hussars pursuing them.

And then Sharpe saw him, the chasseur colonel who was among the last to retreat. A face that he had seen only once before but pictured many times in his dreams, hoping for this moment. And now fate had brought them together. "Colonel Laurent!"he roared.

Laurent heard his name being called and looked round at the strange scruffy figure standing in the snow. "You know me, Englishman, but I do not know you."

"Lieutenant Sharpe, 95th. I met some of your men. In a Spanish village, raping women. They died very easily."

Laurent felt fury inside of him. He had wondered as the British had charged if the one who had slaughtered his men was among them. And now this scruffy ageing lieutenant was claiming responsibility? For Laurent, there was only one option. He turned his horse round, raised his sabre and charged.

It was a move that would probably have worked against a dismounted cavalry officer. But Laurent was facing a rifleman. Calmly, Sharpe unslung the rifle from his back, loaded it with the precision of years of practise, raised it and fired. The bullet went through the neck of Laurent's horse and the beast went down, throwing Laurent into the snow.

Sharpe drew his sword and approached cautiously, as Laurent staggered to his feet, sabre in hand. Sharpe wondered what he would do if Laurent tried to surrender. But then he saw the anger and hatred in Laurent's eyes and knew that wasn't going to happen. Laurent wanted to kill him. Which was fine, because Sharpe wanted to kill Laurent.

They circled each other and then Laurent slashed with the sword. The slashes were wild but no less dangerous and Sharpe was forced to fling himself backwards to avoid them. On and on Laurent came and Sharpe was forced to bring his sword up to parry them. Then he slipped in the snow and ice and fell onto his back. Laurent lunged forward, sword thrusting downwards, and Sharpe only just managed to roll to one side. But now Laurent was off balance. Sharpe recovered and swung his sword, imbedding it deep in Laurent's side. The colonel gave a strangled gasp and coughed blood, then fell. Sharpe got to his feet and braced his foot against Laurent, pulling the sword out of him. Then he stabbed down into his chest, putting an end to Laurent's misery.

Sharpe looked up and saw French chasseurs everywhere with their weapons dropped and their hands raised. They had clearly decided that neither fight nor flight was an option for them. "'Ware cavalry behind!"came a shout and the horsemen that had been pursuing the remaining French stopped and turned back, ready to face this new enemy.

Then they recognised the British uniforms. The 10th hussars had arrived at last.

Paget galloped forward to berate his opposite number. "Slade, where the devil have you been..?" Other men grumbled at the retreating French survivors, claiming they would have caught them all if they hadn't been called back.

But Sharpe did not care about the French who had got away. He cared only about the one whose blood stained the snow around him. A private battle had been fought at Sahagun. And Sharpe had won.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Delfina fixed Sharpe with an icy look. "So you are doing what I said. You are leaving us."

"We're not abandoning Portugal!"Sharpe protested, although in truth he had no idea what the politicians or Horse Guards or anyone whose opinion actually mattered intended for them to do. "We've got troops there, a garrison in Lisbon! If you get invaded again, they'll help you!"

Delfina scoffed. "They will be the next to go. And you, Richard? Are you going to fight the French, to help Spain? Or are you going to run?"

Sharpe wanted to tell her many things, that it wasn't his idea, that he was just a soldier who went where he was told and fought who he was told. That wasn't entirely true, of course. No-one had told him to go to Sahagun and no-one had told him to fight Laurent. He had done that himself, for her, for all the Spanish people that Laurent had attacked knowing they couldn't fight back. But that meant nothing now. Shortly after their return from Sahagun, it had been announced that Sir John Moore had changed his mind. Attacking Soult would take them too near to other French armies, leave them too vulnerable to counter-attack. They were heading away from the French, heading for a place called Corunna where they would be evacuated by sea. Evacuated back to England, leaving Spain to be plundered by more Laurents.

So Sharpe made no excuses to Delfina, one of the many people they were abandoning. He simply muttered an awkward farewell and left her his French cavalry horse, to carry her home to Portugal. She didn't thank him.

As he was making his way through the camp, he came across a group of mounted hussars. Some of them recognised him and saluted, a salute he returned awkwardly. Lockhart was among them and he stopped and reined his horse next to Sharpe. "You heading off, Eli?"Sharpe asked.

Lockhart nodded. "Need to scout the hills, make sure there's no French cavalry about. Keep you foot soldiers safe from them, hey?"

A part of Sharpe wished he could go with them, even though he knew he was no cavalryman. But he had his own duties, and tedious though they were they would never be more vital. Marching through the harsh winter would be a trial for his battalion. They might not trust him to fire a rifle or lead men, but they trusted him to keep them warm and fed. He would do it but he wouldn't enjoy it. "Good luck, Eli." He extended his hand.

Lockhart grasped it briefly. "And to you, Dick. Sir,"he added with a smile, letting Sharpe know the faux pas had been deliberate. "Maybe we'll meet again some day?"

Sharpe nodded. "Maybe."

Sharpe walked on and found his regiment. The 95th were forming up. Wade was not going with them. He was splitting the battalion again, going by different routes. Maybe it was his way of making sure some of them survived. Dunnett was in command again.

The major gave Sharpe a knowing smile as he approached. "Back with us again, Lieutenant! I hope we can find you occupation that will keep your interest?"

"Yes, sir,"Sharpe replied simply. He didn't feel like saying much else.

The battalion moved off. Sharpe watched as rows of men marched, away from war.

Was that the end? Sharpe doubted it. The French still threatened Europe: Portugal, Spain and all the rest. The British would not make peace with their old enemy. They would fight them again, some time, some place. And Sharpe would be there and he would fight. And he would prove himself as many times as he had to to make Dunnett and the others respect him. That was now Sharpe's target.

* * *

 **A Historical Note will follow but this marks the end of Sharpe's Target. All opinions welcome!**


	11. Historical Note

**HISTORICAL NOTE**

After the victories at Rolica and Vimeiro, which I previously chronicled in _Sharpe's Value_ , the British army marched into Spain. However, the situation they found there was much as described by Captain Murray in the story. There were no civilian or military authorities to direct the Spanish war effort against the French, leaving each Spanish army fighting independently. As such, even when the Spanish were able to win a victory, such as Valmaseda in early November, they were unable to press home the advantage.

With the British largely remaining on the sidelines during this period of the conflict, the Battle of Sahagun on 21st December provided both a rare engagement and a victory. The devastating charge by the 15th Hussars completely broke the 1st Provisional Chasseurs. Almost the entire regiment was killed or captured, including two lieutenant-colonels, with the result that the chasseurs were forced to disband.

All of the generals featured in this story existed, as did Colonel Wade. The other characters, including Colonel Laurent, are fictional. Henry Paget, who commanded the British at Sahagun, would gain another victory over French cavalry just eight days later at Benevente. He was evacuated from the peninsular at Corunna and never returned: Shortly after his return to England in 1809, he left his own wife for the wife of Henry Wellesley, younger brother of Sir Arthur, who similarly left her husband for him, and it was considered unwise to have Wellesley and Paget serve together. However, as the Earl of Uxbridge he would command the by-then Duke of Wellington's cavalry at Waterloo, famously losing a leg in the latter stages.

But the victory at Sahagun was not enough to convince Sir John Moore to take the fight to the French and the retreat to Corunna had begun. It was a journey that Sharpe would not of course complete, being cut off from the 95th Rifles forever. Delfina's prediction would come true: In March 1809, with the conquest of Spain virtually complete, the French invaded Portugal a second time, capturing Oporto and holding it for two months before being beaten back by Wellesley's army. Sharpe would march again.


End file.
